


The Heartbroken Present of James Madison

by UnwaveringHurricane (jaimesselfishmachines)



Series: The Story of James Madison [2]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: James deserves the world, M/M, Past Hamilton/Madison, Suicidal Thoughts/Actions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-20
Updated: 2016-02-01
Packaged: 2018-05-15 03:37:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5769778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaimesselfishmachines/pseuds/UnwaveringHurricane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Keeping secrets always backfires in the end.<br/>But everyone knows that. You play with fire, and you'll get burnt.<br/>What Thomas wasn't counting on, was an inferno. It's worse when James becomes collateral damage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This can stand alone, but it helps if you read part one.

James Madison turned, leaning against the closest wall, out of sight of the two _very occupied_ lovers. He covered his mouth, as if that would smother the sound of his heart breaking.  
“Thomas…” he whispered, inaudible to anyone but himself. Clutching his chest, James fell to his knees. How could Thomas do this to him? James loved Thomas Jefferson so much that it hurt; but Thomas knew that. Knew James worshipped the ground he walked on. Sometimes, on the days Madison woke up before his boyfriend, Madison would lie awake and watch the steady rise and fall of Thomas’s chest while he slept.

Being close to Thomas probably stopped him for killing himself multiple times – Thomas would have been devastated. At least, James had thought so at the time. It was now clear that Thomas didn’t give a shit about James. James felt the pins and needles in his hands, the tingling reminding him of where he was. He had to get out of here. James would still hear Thomas’s feverish moans from the next room as _Hamilton’s touch_ pleasured him. _Hamilton?_ Of all people _._

James rushed to his feet and sped out the way he came. He ran, not knowing where to go, but needing to get away. Behind his eyelids, he could still see it –

_Thomas gripping the chair, head thrown back in ecstasy, a series of moaned expletives escaping his mouth as Hamilton knelt between his legs. Hamilton rose from his knees, lips red and spit-slicked. He leaned in close to Jefferson, whispering something that made Thomas beg in response. Hamilton turned around and lowered himself onto Jefferson. Jefferson whined, letting another string of expletives. Alexander gasped sinfully, his face contorting in a display of pure lust, as he rode Thomas._   
  


* * *

His chest hurt. It hurt for the next 2 and a half days, a physical pressure that made it hard to breathe. His lungs painfully twisted in his chest, he felt as though he was suffocating. James was convinced his heart was actually broken.

He toyed with the box, and then hid it back under the dresser. This was unhealthy. He had to eat something. He had to get out of bed and stop moping. Thomas was due home from his _‘business trip’_ any minute and if James was still in bed, he would know something was up.  James forced himself up and out of bed, putting on his slippers, and slinking down the stairs. James couldn’t help but wonder if this week-long ‘trip to France’ was just an excuse to be away from him.

Maybe he drove Thomas away. Maybe he was too needy. Maybe Thomas wasn’t satisfied. Maybe Thomas wanted to break up with James when he found out about Mercer, and didn’t know how to do it. Maybe Hamilton was smarter; a harder worker than James. Maybe James wasn’t good enough for Thomas. He didn’t deserve Thomas, but James had kept him by his side. Maybe Thomas felt trapped; maybe that’s why he fucked Hamilton and broke James’s heart. All the maybe’s made Madison dizzy. His vision blurred, and he found purchase on the kitchen counter. He was not about to have a panic attack. He couldn’t let Thomas know he knew. He pulled himself from the panic, deciding on making breakfast.

“James?”

Madison turned around to face Thomas Jefferson. Jefferson grinned, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. He looked tired. And as much as Madison wanted to hate him…

“Thomas!” James abandoned the frying pan and ran to Thomas.

Thomas squeezed his boyfriend tight against him, looking as though he was about to cry.

“I missed you every day, James.”

James bit the inside his cheek to stop from betraying himself. He rest his head on Thomas’s shoulder and pretended this whole exchange wasn’t ripping him apart inside. Thomas had missed him? But not enough to call, text, or email. And definitely not enough to stop himself from fucking Madison’s ex-fiancé. Suddenly, Thomas’s touch repulsed him. Knowing that those fingertips at graced Hamilton’s skin in a way Thomas had promised was only his turned Madison’s stomach. He fought the urge to push Thomas away from him. Such a violent reaction would raise eyebrows.

“I...” ~~know you fucked Alexander Hamilton in your office while you supposedly in France~~ , “missed you too.”

Sensing Madison’s tenseness, Thomas tilted his head to the side with eyes full of concern, holding James’s shoulders a bit farther away so he could see his boyfriend’s face. “James, are you okay? You seem a bit…off.”

Madison turned away from Thomas and back to the now-burning eggs in the frying pan. “Fine.” He turned off the stove and dumped the burnt remnants in the garbage before placing the pan in the sink. He wasn’t hungry anymore.

“You can talk to me, James.” Thomas’s voice was soft and comforting and James couldn’t take it anymore.

“And say what, Thomas!” James yelled. He could feel the blood pulsing through his veins, and his head began to throb. His hands shook and he cuffed them in an effort at control.

“What’s wrong with you?” Thomas seemed perturbed, taking two steps back from James, who looked about ready to kill him.

“Confess your sins, Thomas.” James said lowly, “Tell me what you were really doing while you were in ‘France’.”

“You know exactly what I was doing.” Thomas replied, “I was helping Lafay-“

“You were fucking Hamilton!” James screamed, his voice sounded tired and absolutely defeated. Thomas stiffened, clamping his mouth shut. Tears welled up in James’s eyes as he looked at the man he was going to propose to. Was. The son of a bitch had lied to him, and he couldn’t understand, “Why? Why did you do this to me?”

“I never had sexual relations with Hamilton.” Thomas lied. He was back to his charming self, but James was having none of it.

“I saw you! Three days ago.” He stopped to wipe his face, “I went to your office, and you were there, with Hamilton…oh god.”

“James, listen.” Thomas held his hands out in an effort to quieten Madison.

“No, Thomas! Stop lying to me.” James said, shaking his head. He ran a hand over his hair and scratched at his scalp. “Did you do this...Did you hurt me because of the thing I told you about General Mercer?” His voice was wounded and soft as he choked out the words.

Thomas’s jaw dropped. “No. I would never…” Hurt you? Too late, Jefferson. “It wasn’t because of you. I love you, James.”

James laughed, but it didn’t bring the usual warmth to Thomas’s heart. This laugh was cold and bitter. “You don’t know what love is, Jefferson.” James shivered. “ ** _I_** loved you.”

Thomas flinched, noticing how James stressed the past tense.

“I was going to propose to you.” James said quietly.

“I…” With Thomas's thoughts racing, he couldn’t explain the truth, he couldn’t get James to understand that he –

“Get out.” His voice was tired, and exhausted from the fight. “Pack your things and get out. I’ll burn anything that isn’t gone by morning.” James bowed his head and slipped past Thomas, trudging up the stairs. Repulsed by sharing a bed with that vile man, he opened the guest room. He shut the door behind him, and slid to the floor, and sobbing his eyes out.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Italics are flashbacks.

Thomas’s head throbbed. He originally thought it was a hangover, but realized that he hadn’t stopped drinking long enough for that to happen. He ran a hand through his hair, wincing when he reached the back of his scalp: sticky, swollen and wet. He pulled his hand away and glanced at it, eyes wide when he saw blood. He doesn’t remember trying to cave in his skull, but it probably happened after the 74th attempt at contacting James that night. Thomas wondered why James still answered after the first 73.

James blacklisted Thomas after the 74th call to his phone. It was 4 in the morning, and Thomas had become more and more incoherent as the hours passed. James started keeping records after the tenth. _Thomas sounded sad and begged James not to hurt himself._ The fifteenth had Thomas apologizing for three minutes straight before James had the strength to hang up on him. The twenty-seventh, Thomas was silent, as if he had run out of things to say, he hung up after a minute. The next 4 calls were in French. The thirty-second came 52 minutes after, and Thomas blubbered a series of apologies in French that James didn’t quite understand.    
The thirty-third, James demanded Jefferson explain himself. Thomas still maintained his innocence and Madison rolled his eyes. The thirty-forth, Thomas claimed he couldn’t remember a thing. On the 40th, James didn’t allow Jefferson to speak, yelling “I hate you! I fucking hate you, Thomas,” before hanging up. Thomas used the 41st to say he understood. After that James’s phone didn’t ring for about three hours.

James decided to take a relaxing bath…

…And Thomas decided to cave in his own skull.

 

* * *

 

 

Madison didn’t speak to or see Thomas until the cabinet meeting scheduled a week later. Thomas stumbled in the door, half an hour late, apologizing profusely. He spoke so fast, the sentences blurred into each other as he leaned against the writing desk. His eyes were bloodshot and always wandered over to Hamilton. Even from across the room, James knew exactly what was wrong with Thomas. Hamilton gasped at Thomas’s lack of composure, watching as the Secretary of State wobbled and struggled to stay upright. Alexander glanced over at James whose eyes were transfixed, just like the rest of the cabinet, on Thomas Jefferson.

“Mister President,” He slurred, “sorry I’m late, but I needed…”

“A drink?” Hamilton challenged, earning him a death-glare from Madison.  

“Secretary Jefferson,” George Washington took control of the situation before Jefferson could embarrass himself any further, “come with me.” George wrapped an arm around his very drunk Secretary of State’s shoulders, quickly leading him away from the stunned spectators. James stood up and ran to the men’s room, unable to cope with having seen Thomas in such a state.

Inside was Hamilton hunched over a sink, breathing in measured seconds. Hamilton looked up when he heard the door shut.

“Madison,” Alexander said with contempt. The break-up wasn’t the most amicable, sure, but they could be civil.

“We were once on a first name basis, Alexander.” James said, laughing to himself.

“Before Virginia was more important to you than I was.”

“It wasn’t like that. Your plan was an out-“

“Outrageous demand and too many damn pages long?” Alexander finished, “You sound like Thomas.”

“I’m not here to debate the past, Alexander.” James said, noting how Alex called Thomas by his first name. Hamilton folded his arms, “I just want to know why you slept with him.”

Hamilton looked about ready to faint. “He told you? He said you guys were done, he said…oh god.” Realizing what he’d done, Alexander broke down, “I’m so sorry, James. We were both drunk, I didn’t know you…I’m so sorry.” He gripped the edge of the sink, knuckles turning red, then white.

“Alex, look at me.” James whispered. Alex turned to face his ex-fiancé, red-rimmed eyes pleading for clemency. James wrapped his arms around Alexander, letting the man sob into his shirt. Alexander’s hands grasped at the warmth of James, desperately needing to be buried in his scent. He felt so used. Thomas had lied to him to get him into bed. He had ruined Madison’s new relationship. James probably thought he broke them up on purpose. Now, Thomas Jefferson was showing up drunk to cabinet meetings and Hamilton’s plans were passing without opposition. James must think the worst of him. James smiled, unseen by Alexander, probably for the first time since he found out Thomas had cheated on him. “It’s okay; you didn’t know,” James said, rubbing Alexander’s back.

The pair were startled by the door slamming shut behind them, “S-should I come back?”

“No,” James said, still holding Alexander in his arms, “what do you need?”

The nervous-looking aide scratched the back of her neck, “The President wishes to see you, Mr Madison.”

“Tell him I’ll be right there.” James said. The aide quickly scurried off the way she came, heels tip-tapping all the way.

 

* * *

 

Crossing the threshold into Washington’s office, the first thing James saw was Thomas asleep, uncomfortably cramped onto the loveseat in the corner of Washington’s spacious office. He was snoring softly and James was almost mesmerized by the familiar rise and fall of his ~~boyfriend~~ ex-boyfriend’s chest.  James remembered stroking those soft kinky curls, the comfort beneath his fingertips lulling him to sleep. As much as he tried to deny it, James still longed for Thomas to be his again. 

Washington cleared his throat, drawing Madison out of his thoughts, “He had eight years under his belt.” Washington struggled to mask the raw emotion in his voice as he gestured over to Thomas. Addressing Madison’s look of confusion, Washington stood and told Madison how he and Thomas had been friends for years, and Washington had born witness to every panic attack, every nervous breakdown, every time Thomas fell off the wagon. Washington had been there, and gotten Thomas cleaned up and sober.

 

  _But eight years ago was the last straw. Washington had found Thomas in his office hunched over the desk – the man always did work too hard. Thinking he was asleep, Washington figured he would visit tomorrow morning, that is, until he smelt stale liquor. Storming into the office, ready to give Thomas a piece of his mind, George stopped short of the mahogany desk between him and Thomas. Four empty bottles of various types of alcohol and an empty prescription bottle were lined up on the edge of the table, just out of view of passers-by._

_“Oh, Thomas, what have you done?” George rushed to his friend’s side, unsuccessfully attempting to rouse him. George held his breath as he lifted Thomas up to check his pulse, weak and rapid beneath his fingertips. Hearing Thomas wheeze with every breath, Washington silently prayed to whoever was listening to spare his friend. Rifling through Thomas’s drawers for the office phone, he instead found five more empty bottles of Thomas’s anxiety medication. Deciding against calling an ambulance, Washington heaved Thomas’s lifeless frame over his shoulder and raced to his car._

_Making it to the hospital in record time, Washington quickly used his connections to ensure the highest level of discretion. Barred from entering beyond the lobby, Washington waited anxiously while the hospital staff was no doubt pumping Thomas’s stomach. Eleven hours later, when Thomas was just strong enough to speak, George made him promise to never drink again, making arrangements for a rehab centre in France. Thomas swore, with tears in his eyes, that he would never touch another bottle, if only Washington would give him another chance._

_“I believe in you, Thomas. If you clean yourself up and stay sober, I’m tapping you for Secretary of State in 15 months. Can you do that for me?”_

_Unable to sit up, Thomas reached for George’s hand, stroking a thumb over his knuckles. His throat burned, but he had to say it. “Yes, Mister President.” He had to make George proud._

When George had finished his story, he sat behind his desk, burying his head in his hands. James wanted to comfort the President, but didn’t know what to say. It was strange seeing him look so defeated.

Looking up at Madison, he said, “I gather from your reaction that he never told you?”

“No, Sir.” James was dizzy. He sat down in a futile attempt at organizing his thoughts. Thomas had tried to kill himself? Eight years was a long time – clearly Madison doesn’t know Thomas as well as he thought he did. He knew Thomas didn’t drink, but…Dammit, James wanted to be angry at Thomas for keeping secrets from him, but James had his fair share. Is that why Thomas was ambassador, to hide his former alcoholism? Why hadn’t Thomas told him?

Washington’s voice broke Madison from his thoughts, “He wanted to save face.” Washington said, seemingly able to read his mind, “Would you have dated a drunk?”

“Sir,” James wanted to say yes, but he wasn’t so sure, “did Thomas go to France two weeks ago?”

Washington laughed bitterly, “Clearly.” When James shot him a puzzled look, Washington explained further, “ _Going to France_ means going to in-patient in Maine. He promised me.” George sighed and threw his hands in air, “Why, Thomas?” he said, even though he knew Thomas couldn’t hear him.

“I k-kicked him out, Sir.” James pondered on whether or not to tell Washington the whole story, deciding that in order to make the right decision, the President had to be fully informed of all angles of the situation. “Caught him sleeping with Hamilton.”

“Alexander,” George said the name like a curse.

“Thomas says he doesn’t remember it.” James ventured,”…he may have been drinking?”

“Did you ask?” Washington glanced over at the man still sleeping in the corner. Jefferson’s dignity seemed forced, with his purple cloak strewn about his person. Washington felt for the man – his friend – he really did, but he couldn’t keep giving Thomas chances. Not when the stakes were so high. Not when the nation was on the line. He told Thomas to come to come to him if he was ever having problems, or felt like drinking again. Why hadn’t Thomas called him? Was Thomas so stubborn?

“I was too angry.” James answered, “We’d gone to a fundraiser before Thomas was scheduled to leave. Thomas used it as a farewell party – he was sick the day after, but we assumed it was food poisoning.”

“Did you drink that night?” George’s voice had acquired a tone that James didn’t particularly care for. Was George accusing him of causing Thomas’s relapse? James didn’t even know Thomas used to be an alcoholic – George would argue ignorance isn’t an excuse.

“I did.”

“What did you have?”

“Whiskey and Ginger Ale.” James answered, becoming a little irritated, “Thomas stuck to Ginger Ale as far as I know.”

“Who ordered?”

“The drinks? He did. He liked to see them prepared.” James said, “Is this an interrogation?”

“No, James.” George responded tiredly, “I just need to know when it happened.”

  


_James thought back to the night in question. Even with music pumping, and drinks free-flowing, Thomas looked a bit testy. He repeatedly ran his hands through his hair, and chewed on his bottom lip, and scratched an itch on his left wrist that James was sure didn’t exist._

_“Thomas.” James yelled over the music, when he got no response, he tried again, “Thomas! Are you okay?”_

_Thomas shook himself out of it and shot James a genuine smile, “Totally. Just wondering if I packed everything! You want anything to drink?”_

_“The usual, thanks!” James gave Thomas a peck on the cheek before Thomas left to get their drink orders filled. James was startled when he came back so quickly, handing James a glass. “Cheers!”_

_“Cheers!” Thomas took a sip of his drink, sighing happily. He enjoyed James’s company, and he was going to miss it while he was in France. From the time the liquid left the straw to the time it hit his stomach, Thomas felt absolute dread. He had slipped up._

_“Thomas?”_

_“I don’t feel well. Excuse me.”_

“He freaked out after taking a sip of ginger ale. Fuck... He got my whiskey.” James said, replaying the events in his mind. “He got my whiskey. I have to go.” Eight years – he’d ruined eight years of sobriety for Thomas with one little oversight.

“James-“

“I’m sorry,” James spoke so fast, the words blurred together, “I have to go. I have to go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for Non-con elements in the next chapter.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He was in no condition to answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for non-con elements. Nothing too graphic.  
> Warning for smut. Graphic. *mwah*

James sat quietly, his eyes tracing the cracks in the wall as he dug his toes into the carpeted floor. His silhouette was all sharp angles, tensed muscles and clenched fists. He was angry: at Thomas, at Alexander, at George, at himself. Deep down, though, he knew the anger only covered up his guilt. He had acted on impulse, without thinking, and Thomas had paid for it. Thomas had paid eight years of sobriety and James’s love for one stupid oversight that had dominoed way out of control. Hamilton had had a hand in it too, getting drunk with Thomas the night after – James supposed the sex was out of their hands, alcohol would have wrecked Thomas completely and James knew a drunk Hamilton was way overly affectionate. James yelled to God, or whoever was listening, to just fix it – fix everything. He yelled until he ran out of breath, then he yelled till his throat hurt and his head pounded, then he yelled some more.  
When Thomas called him three times that night, he was in no condition to answer.

_His dreams gave him no comfort. There, in the darkness, James was confronted by a menacing General Mercer, sans the bayonet wounds. James froze, scared to move. He couldn’t let Mercer hurt him again. He couldn’t… He had to get out of here, he had to run away. He had to… James sped off as fast as his legs could carry him, heart beating fast in his ears. His blood rushed and he felt the terror course through him. He turned back to see Mercer hot on his tail, yelling something Madison couldn’t hear. While he was distracted by the man who had plagued his nightmares for so many years, he twisted his foot in the pothole he didn’t see. He yelped in pain, tumbling over himself, the full weight of his demons behind him. Seeing Mercer approach him, James closed his eyes and waited for the blows to rain down. He could do this. Maybe if he surrendered, Mercer would have mercy on him._

_What happened next threw James off. Mercer spoke softly, trying to calm James down, encouraging him to breathe slowly and relax, but this was too strange. Mercer shouldn’t be so kind, shouldn’t be speaking to him in this tone,_

_“Don’t touch me.” James growled when Mercer reached a hand out to calm him. “You don’t get to touch me.”_

_“I never got to apologize to you, Madison. I’m sorry I hurt you.”_

_“I don’t want your fucking apologies.” James said, glaring at Mercer, “It’s too late for that.”_

_James got up from the ground, placing more weight on his left side to compensate for the twisted ankle, something which didn’t escape Mercer’s notice. Quicker than he realized, James hit the ground with a thud, with Mercer’s entire body weight pressing on his injured right leg. He struggled to stop himself from crying out in pain. Mercer leaned over him, and memories that James would rather forget played behind his eyelids. James stared up at Mercer, familiar with the cold eyes that looked down at him from their meetings many years prior._

_“You’re mine, James.” Mercer whispered, dangerously close to James neck, taking pleasure in instilling fear in the man beneath him._

_“Please…” James hated how his voice caught in his throat, hated how weak he sounded, hated how Mercer still overpowered him._

_“Beg me to fuck you.” Mercer said, palm pressing against James’s windpipe, thumb hovering over his pulse point._

_James shook his head. He couldn’t beg. He couldn’t beg. He couldn’t. Breathe._

_Mercer pressed down, cutting off any air that allowed Madison to think rationally. His head spun, and as he clawed at Mercer’s grip, he couldn’t feel his nails dig into his own flesh. His vision blurred and James became even more desperate to get free. Mercer was too strong. Mercer held James down with one hand, the other fiddling with his belt buckle. Unwanted lips found their home on James’s neck, unwanted hands down his pants. James wanted to be sick. The last thing he heard was the sound of Mercer’s belt buckle coming undone before…_

 

James woke up in a cold sweat, eyes wide, reaching for Thomas. He yelled Thomas’s name before registering the lack of warmth on the other side of the bed. He reached for his phone, frantically looking for Thomas’s name. James pressed call, and waited anxiously for Thomas to pick up.

“Hey,” Thomas sounded husky, voice sore from sleep.

“Thomas,” James replied, looking at the time, “Sorry if I woke you.”

“Are you okay?” Thomas asked, hearing James’s erratic breathing down the line, “You aren’t usually up at…” James imagined Thomas looked at a clock, “four in the morning.”

“I…I had a nightmare, Thomas.” James suddenly felt ashamed, having to admit weakness and ask his ~~boyfriend~~ ex-boyfriend for comfort at a time like this. “Can you come over?” There was silence, as if Thomas was weighing the options in his mind; James debated hanging up.

“I’ll be there soon." Thomas hung up.

James wrapped himself in the duvet, now fully aware of his surroundings. There was no way he was going to get any sleep now. He waited patiently, closing his eyes with a sigh. He felt the bed dip down with the weight of his ~~boyfriend~~ ex-boyfriend. Thomas wrapped his arms around James, who turned around the lay his head on Thomas’s chest.

“Thomas,” James whispered sleepily, “You came,”

“I said I would. And I wouldn’t lie to you.” Thomas said sadly. Maybe if he proved he was trustworthy enough, James would love him again.

* * *

 

 

 

When James woke up, the bed was cold again. James sighed, shaking his head. He was so exhausted, he could have sworn he had called Thomas last night. The suspicion was confirmed when the scent of Thomas’s shampoo wafted through the room – James hadn’t even heard the shower.

“Morning, Sleepy-head.” Thomas said, smiling brightly.

“Morning, Thomas.” James blushed, throat sore, “Thanks for coming and...”

“No problem.” Thomas replied, not wanting to make James uncomfortable with having to explain last night’s event. It’s not like Thomas wasn’t used to soothing James’s fears after a bad dream. It didn’t happen often, but the circumstances in this case were… _different_. Thomas grimaced at the memory of him and Hamilton – he wasn’t particularly sure it was a memory or just the image his mind had invented when confronted by James’s accusations. Or the thought of going to another cabinet meeting, was Washington going to fire him? Thomas didn’t realize the heavy silence sinking through the atmosphere.

“Why did you do it?” James asked quietly.

“I don’t know. When I drink, I get…” Thomas trailed off unable to finish his sentence. Maybe it was the shame, “I didn’t mean to hurt you, James. I’m sober now, I swear.”

“George told me what happened eight years ago.” James admitted.

Thomas froze. Tremors travelled down his spine, every muscle twitched uncontrollably, he clenched his jaw, and tensed his fists. He willed his hands not to shake. He gripped at his shirt, right over his heart in an effort to control the pounding. He willed his bones not to pain him. He couldn’t see, he couldn’t hear what James was saying, but he knew the ground was getting closer than was comfortable.

“Thomas!” James yelled, throat still sore from screaming, lunging for Thomas’s collapsing form before Thomas could injure himself. Thomas’s eyes rolled back, and his body stiffened. “Thomas, can you tell me what’s wrong? Did you take anything?”

Thomas jerked his head from left to right in an effort to communicate his answer to a terrified James Madison. Thomas struggled to maintain his composure, his body overcome with tremors, he felt like he’d break. “Let me call an ambulance.”

“No,” Thomas rasped, finally able to control his body’s movement enough to formulate words, “Don’t.”

“What the fuck was that, Thomas!” James said urgently, trying to figure out why his ~~boyfriend~~ ex-boyfriend had practically had a seizure in front of him. “I need to call an ambulance!”

“So you can ruin my reputation further?” Thomas’s mouth was dry, and he licked his lips in a futile effort to moisten them, “I’ll probably be out of a job if it’s left to Washington. At least Congress has mercy on reneged promises.”

James sighed, “Has…this,” he gestured to their current position, “happened before?”

Thomas was too casual in his answer, “Once or twice. Comes with withdrawal.”

“I’m sorry, Thomas.” James tried his best to convey the regret he felt, “I’m sorry I made you feel like you couldn’t tell me about your past – so much so, that when you took my drink you suffered alone. I’m sorry I didn’t believe you about Hamilton. I…”

“James.” Thomas sat up, silencing James by calling his name. He clasped James’s hand in his, rubbing a thumb over his knuckles, “I forgive you. I just wanted you to love me again.” Thomas’s eyes watered, “I realized that my life isn’t the same without you. I woke up this morning, in your arms, and for a minute I watched you sleep. You looked so peaceful and…” Salty tears coursed down his cheeks, “My heart broke at the thought I would never see you so peaceful again.”

James’s eyes hovered over Thomas, looking for any sign of falsity. “I never stopped loving you, Thomas. When I saw you…with Alexander, I just… I thought I would die from the pain. It broke me. I couldn’t think of any reason why you would hurt me like that. I blamed myself. Maybe I’d pushed you away. I couldn’t…” James only realized he was crying when he felt Thomas’s thumbs wipe away the hot tears from his cheeks. James leaned into the touch, “I thought I lost you. I love you, Thomas.”

Thomas nodded, a soft smile at home on his lips, “I love you too, James. I always have.” When Thomas framed James’s face in his hands and leaned in, James reciprocated fully, capturing Thomas’s lips in a kiss. It was the most intimate thing they had displayed in the last month, full of emotion – love, regret, forgiveness, joy and pain. They separated, and Thomas locked eyes with James.

“Marry me.” Thomas said. It was so off-hand that James doubted his ears for a second.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Marry me, James.” Thomas smiled wider than before. His heart was pounding and he refrained from kissing James’s face over and over again. He just wanted James to say yes, then they could live out their fantasy life together, and…

“I can’t marry you.” James said sadly.

Thomas’s face dropped, his brow furrowing in confusion, “I’m…What?”

James clasped Thomas’s shoulders, separating himself. He should have said yes. But you shouldn’t marry someone you have so many doubts about. Too many things had happened in that time apart. They couldn’t just move past this. Infidelity, alcoholism, relapse – James was exhausted. Thomas was just like Alexander, as much as he’d protest it. James promised himself he would never put work before his partners, and he did. James promised himself he would abandon his self-destructive tendencies, and he did. James promised himself to open up, and he did. Thomas didn’t. James wanted this to work, but he didn’t know Thomas well enough for that.

“We both went through a lot during this time. You just got sober. I fear the stress of wedding planning will be too much for you.”

“You know nothing about me.” Thomas spat.

“That’s the problem. I love you, Thomas, but the fact that you didn’t trust me to help you stay sober. The fact that I had to find out from George about your past…You aren’t ready to marry me.” James said, reaching out to touch Thomas’s chin.

Thomas recoiled, “You never asked. Didn’t I ask about your nightmares? About where those scars came from?” Thomas pointed, and James rushed to cover his left wrist. “You never once asked me where my medallions came from. About how I was coping with my anxiety. You never showed me you cared.”

“I told you every day!”

“Saying _I love you_ is not the same as showing you care!” Thomas yelled over him. He crouched down under the bed and pulled out the lockbox, turning the key already in the slot. He opened it, splaying the shiny array of multi-coloured discs all over the bed.

“Thomas, don’t.” James said quietly.

“I know. My past is a bit too messy for you and your _perfect_ life,” Thomas said bitterly, “As long as you never knew, we could be fucking happy!” He held up the closest disk, blue rimmed with a gold center. “Five years. I went five years without a drink. I got this the day after our first date.” He reached for another, “Seven years. I got this the week after we saw Philip die! Don’t you dare treat me like I’m weak. That’s why I didn’t tell you!”

“Thomas.” James opened his mouth to speak, then shut it again, unable to formulate words, “I never said you were weak. I was just looking out for you. I couldn’t bear to lose you-“

“But you can’t marry me.” Thomas said flatly. He gathered the medallions, carefully placing them into the order of his sobriety. He closed the lockbox, sliding it back under their bed.

“…not yet.” James said softly, “I think we just need time to know if this is the right thing to do.” He scratched at the old scars nervously, “I would love to marry you. We just need to fix this first.”

Secure in James’s response, Thomas dropped the offensive, “Okay then.” So it wasn’t that James objected to marrying Thomas, just the timeframe? He could deal with that. “Are you going to work today?” He said, changing the topic.

“No, I feel like staying in.” James sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing his eyes. He really wanted to spend time with his ~~ex-boyfriend~~ boyfriend, he waggled his eyebrows, “And perhaps, you’d like to spend it with me..?”

Thomas smirked, striding closer to James until he stood between his boyfriend’s legs. “I would love to.” He straddled Madison before bringing their lips to meet. He held a hand up to the side of James’s face, letting his fingers travel to toy with James’s hair. Thomas rolled his hips and James moaned into his boyfriend’s mouth, thrusting upwards for extra friction. “James…” Thomas breathed into James’s neck. He let his teeth graze the skin there, “I want you to fuck me.” James threw his head back as Thomas sat back and slid a hand down James’s pants, gripping at the thick length there, stroking lazily. “I want you to fuck me.” Thomas said again, shuffling off James’s lap and onto the floor in front of him. Sliding his thumbs into the waistband, Thomas shuffled the pants from James’s hips, and leaned in to nuzzle the curly hairs at James’s bellybutton. Slowly, slowly, Thomas lowered his head to James’s dick, blowing air softly on the tip. James groaned lowly, gripping at the sheets.

“My god, Thomas. Just…guh,” James was cut off by Thomas’s wet mouth on his dick, skillful tongue swirling, finding the pattern to completely take James apart. James thrust into the back of Thomas’s throat impatiently. Thomas coughed, unprepared, and worked to open his throat more. When James thrust again, Thomas swallowed around him, and James whined. James gripped roughly at Thomas’s hair while he thrust into his boyfriend’s throat. Hearing Thomas gag was so goddamn hot and god, he was getting close, “Thomas,” he warned, closing his eyes.

Thomas held onto James’s hips, removing himself from James. “No. You have to fuck me.” Thomas stood and removed his shirt, his boxers quickly following. James practically picked Thomas up and threw him on the bed. He reached for the lube under the pillow and slicked up two fingers. James brushed at Thomas’s entrance, and Thomas keened. James let his fingers glide inside Thomas, working him open, his other hand holding Thomas’s wrists above his head. James removed his fingers and grabbed his own straining erection. Lining up at Thomas’s entrance, he pushed inside with a heavy sigh. Thomas threw his head back, and James felt Thomas struggled against his grip.

“Ohgod.” Thomas choked out. He needed more. He needed… Thomas raised his hips in time with James’s well-timed thrusts, sobbing every time James hit his most sensitive spot. With every synapse firing, Thomas felt his release near. James watched as Thomas felt apart under him – pupils blown, lips red and swollen, muscles flexing, heavy breaths muffling any words that he could even attempt to make. “Choke me,” Thomas moaned. James’s hands made their home around Thomas’s throat, applying the pressure that Thomas so desperately needed. Thomas gripped jerkily at James’s arms, shoulders, wrists to find some purchase. James sped up his thrusts, squeezing tighter. Thomas whimpered loudly as he climaxed over his and James’s stomach, and James, unable to hold on any longer, slid out of Thomas. James snatched at Thomas’s hair and pulled back his head, climaxing on Thomas’s face.

“Thomas.” he gasped, “Are you okay?”

“James,” Hot tears ran down Thomas’s cheeks, “Thank you.” He had been so tired, so tightly wound and James just allowed him to experience the rare time when he could be completely at James’s will.

James kissed Thomas, smudging the cum on his cheek. “I know what you needed, Thomas.” Thomas nodded and stretched upwards, curling into James’s side. James wrapped an arm over Thomas’s naked body, pulling him closer.

“I do care.” James had to make sure he knew.

Thomas yawned, “I know.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shitdawg is practically 85% of my motivation at this point.  
> Thank you, shitdawg.
> 
> Warning for:  
> Non-con elements (by coercion, not force).

George shook his head. He couldn’t cover for Thomas this time, not even if he wanted to. Not when his little outburst had been seen by so many people, so many members of the cabinet. They were good friends, yes, but George would not allow Thomas to ruin both their political careers. Thomas had broken a very important promise to him. The most important promise. “Goddamn you, Thomas Jefferson.”

“You don’t mean that, George.” Thomas knocked on the office door with a sheepish smile.

“And why shouldn’t I? The whole cabinet saw you stumble in here drunk yesterday. I want answers.” George wasted no time with pleasantries. Thomas had been in no state to answer his questions yesterday afternoon, but George was sure to get answers today. “Eight years! Eight years, Thomas!”

Thomas held his palms out in an open gesture, stepping into the office, and closing the door behind him. This was no conversation to be had in the open. “I know how long it was, Sir, trust me.” Thomas relied on formalities to get through this meeting with his job still intact. “All I can say to defend myself was that it wasn’t my fault. We-“

“You and James?”

Thomas nodded, “We went out, y’know, as a farewell get-together before I went to Maine. I got the drinks mixed up. It was only a sip, I swear.”

“You still missed your flight the next morning. James says you were sick as a dog.” Washington’s voice was clear and authoritative, and although they were Friends, Thomas knew he wasn’t in friendly waters. “Exactly how many sips did you take, Mr Secretary?”

Thomas knew lying wasn’t going to get him anywhere, “I took shots at another bar, without James.”

“How many, Thomas?”

                Thomas shrugged, “I didn’t count. It didn’t matter; I had already broken my promise to you. I’d feel better if I was completely hammered instead of tipsy. It was out of control after that, I drank like it was eight years ago, I could finish bottles and just want more.”

“Then you slept with Hamilton.” George rubbed a hand down his face, exhausted. He sighed, “Remember what I said eight years ago? Your employment is conditional, and at the President’s pleasure.”

“Sir?” Thomas knew it was risky to interrupt the President, but he hoped George still had a soft spot for him. “Trust me one more time.” Thomas scratched nervously under his collar.

“No, I trusted you then, and…” George’s eyes widened in shock, “What the hell happened to your neck?” Sure enough, George’s eyes traced the thick purple bruising scattered on and around Thomas’s neck, previously hidden by the collar. “Oh, Thomas, you didn’t..? Please don’t lie to me.” The question hung heavy in the air, weighed down by a mutual history.

“No, Sir. I… didn’t try to kill myself.” Thomas said, looking at the floor as the shame overtook him.  “Sexual injury.”

George went red, “Consensual?”

“Yes, Sir.” Thomas said, avoiding the President’s eyes. “Are you going to fire me?”

George stood, stepping closer to Thomas. Thomas took a step back, and George took another step forward, and Thomas took another step back - until Thomas was pinned against the door. “Thomas, be very careful how you answer this next question.” His voice was low and dangerous, some unspoken threat hidden behind his words.

“Sir?” Thomas straightened, personal space feeling thoroughly invaded.

“How much do you want this – to keep working in my cabinet?” A smirk played on Washington’s lips, knowing that Thomas would do anything for the job. It had been the same eight years ago, and it would be the same today.

“More than anything, Sir.” Thomas closed his eyes, unable to look directly at George.

“More than your relationship with James, Thomas?”  Thomas whimpered as George traced the bruises with his finger. Thomas jerked away from George’s touch, but with nowhere to go, his head bounced off the wall behind him. Thomas resisted his urge to cry out, and instead bit his tongue. He hesitated in answering, weighing the options in his mind. “I can ensure your reputation stays intact, and you’ll still be able to run for president.”

Thomas stayed silent. Was he really willing to give up James? “Sir…”

“It’s a simple question,” George stressed every syllable in Thomas’s current title, “Mr Secretary.”

George fit his hand perfectly over where James’s had formed the bruises. He let it lay there, no pressure, just a warning of what he _could_ do if Thomas resisted. “What are you willing to do, Thomas?”

As much as it pained Thomas to say it, he was his job. “Anything, Sir.”

“On your knees.” It had been that way eight years ago and it would be the same today. Maybe, back then, Thomas was more willing. He had less to lose. Even so, he showed no hesitation dropping to his knees in front of his oldest friend. George stroked Thomas’s hair, “ _I believe in you, Thomas_.”

 

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for non-graphic self harm.

James looked up when he heard the front door shut, “Thomas! How did your meeting with Washington go?”

“Fine,” Thomas shrugged off his jacket and shuffled to the kitchen, feeling James’s eyes following him all the way. James frowned, sensing animosity from Thomas. Had he lost his job? Now, if Thomas was a weaker man, he would have made a beeline for the Scotch in cupboard above the fridge, but he was stronger than that. Instead, he turned on the kettle to make coffee. If only to get the taste out of his mouth. Thomas tried to smile – at least some things had changed in the last eight years.

“Thomas, what happened?” James walked in to see Thomas hunched over the counter, breathing uneven heavy breaths. James placed a comforting hand on Thomas’s back which Thomas immediately shrugged off.

“I’m fine.” Thomas replied on the intervals he could breathe properly.

“You aren’t fine. Tell me what happened. Did he fire you?”

Thomas cleared his throat, an action which didn’t help the soreness. “No.”

“Are you going to talk about it or ignore me?” James asked, getting frustrated with Thomas’s lack of communication.

“Probably ignore you.” Thomas said tiredly, “Can I do some work now, or are you going to keep badgering me?”

“Okay,” James surrendered, “I’ll leave you alone if that’s what you want.” Thomas nodded silently, and James took it as his cue to leave. “Talk to me whenever you’re ready.”

* * *

 

Unfortunately for James, Thomas wasn’t going to be ready soon. As soon as that conversation was over, Thomas went into his study, and refused come out, claiming some huge project had to be finished for Washington at some unreasonable deadline. It didn't make sense. Thomas seemed so frazzled, but George hadn't fired him?  
Every time Madison knocked on the door, Thomas would yell that he was busy, instructing James to come back later. For three days, James got the same response. That’s when he got up and marched into Thomas’s office – busy or not.

“Tell me.” James demanded.

Thomas didn’t look up to acknowledge James’s entry, “I’m busy.”

“Have you been sleeping?” James was met with thick silence, save for the sound of Thomas’s pen scratching at thick documents scattered on his desk. “When was the last time you ate?” Thomas guessed it to be about three days, though he wasn’t completely sure. He couldn’t eat anything without feeling like he was gagging. Everything he ate made him throw up, and if the choice was between vomiting and wasting away, he’d choose the latter. “Do you even remember?” James’s voice took a sense of urgency that Thomas couldn’t ignore.

“Just drop it.” Thomas said curtly. Even if he did tell James, then what? George Washington was the President of the United States. Thomas Jefferson was the drunken Secretary of State. The whole scandal would taint everyone in the Administration, down to the grounds-men of the Presidential Manor. Not to mention, ruin Thomas’s chances at the Presidency, and his newly-repaired relationship with James. It was better to just keep it to himself. George knew too many of his secrets, and wouldn’t hesitate to release them if threatened. He continued writing. James couldn't decide if he was concerned or frustrated.

“Thomas, you haven’t come out in three days. There’s something bothering you that you’re not telling me and I can see it slowly destroying you. What happened?” Thomas kept writing, avoiding James’s gaze. He couldn’t tell James how he dropped to his knees like a courtesan.

“I resigned, James.” A half-truth was better than a lie. George had _allowed_ Thomas to resign, that is, fire him without the dishonor, saying something about goodwill and friendship. It was all bullshit, considering how  _honorable_ it was to have the President’s cum in your hair _?_   But Thomas was tired of having to bend to George’s will.

James’s jaw dropped, “What! You love that job more than life itself! Why?”

“I love you more. The job wasn’t worth giving you up.”

“That doesn’t explain why you haven’t come out of your office in three days.”

“Your eyes,” Thomas whispered, “I couldn’t look you in the eyes. I was ashamed.”

“I wouldn’t judge you just because you aren’t Secretary anymore.” James said kindly. His tone just frustrated Thomas even more.

“You don’t get it, James! You never have.” Thomas cuffed his fists so tightly, his nails drew blood from his palms. He didn’t feel it.

“Thomas,” James said, voice full of concern. He watched, frozen to the spot as Thomas battled some inner turmoil that he would never understand. “You’re hurting yourself.”

“I was indebted to George. Ever since the beginning. He covered up everything that would have cost me my career. All the arrests, all the…incidents.”

“Incidents?” James raised an eyebrow. What was so bad that Thomas would rather stay holed up here instead of facing the world? "It can't have been that ba-"

“Prostitutes, cocaine, alcohol. I…” Thomas’s eyes pleaded with James, “I paid for it on my knees then, and I paid for it on my knees now.” There it was. He never could keep his mouth shut, could he? His knuckles were hurting. He felt like crying, but knew the tears wouldn’t fall. For the first time in three days, he looked James in the eyes. And just as he feared, James hated him. James’s face contorted in disgust for the man that stood before him. It was involuntary, but all James wanted to do was throw up. That’s what had Thomas stuck up here, away from the world? The fact that he got on his knees like a common whore to further his goals…

“You’re disgusting.” He muttered.

“No.” Thomas clenched his fists tighter, droplets of blood falling to the floor. “James, please.” Thomas begged, circumventing that desk quicker than an Olympic gymnast. He reached desperately for James’s sleeve, doing anything to stop James from leaving. “James, please!”

James spun round to face Thomas, “What!” He sneered at Thomas’s feeble state – hair tangled and unkempt, shirt wrinkled, pants dishevelled, half a beard, a pale, sallow complexion, and tired eyes that begged for him to stay. “You want to get on your knees for me too?”

Thomas recoiled, hurt by James's words, “My debts are paid. That’s it. It’s over.” He said, trying to manoeuver his way out of the situation.

“It’s never over with you, Thomas. I’m done.”

“James, you can’t!” Thomas gripped James’s sleeve tighter. James clenched his jaw, beginning to manually uncurl Thomas’s fingers from his arm.

“I can’t keep forgiving you!” James said harshly, releasing Thomas’s hand. Thomas allowed his hand to fall to his side without resistance. “You’re pathetic.” James spat, glaring at the bloody handprint left behind. Without another word, James turned to leave, slamming the door behind him.

Thomas bit down on his lower lip. James was right. He was **pathetic**. He was **disgusting**. He scratched at his left wrist, feeling George in his bloodstream. Rationally, he knew that any evidence George had left on him was long gone, but he didn’t stop scratching. He scratched until he drew blood, allowing it to spill into the hardwood floor. If James didn’t care, why should he? He had pretended to be okay for so long. The occasional bout of rough sex with James wasn’t enough to relieve his tensions – alcohol gave him a costly, temporary reprieve. He was tired. He was so tired. He knew that he could go out and drink right now. Get utterly smashed and hook up with some young thing in a dimly lit bar, but that meant he would only hate himself more in the morning. Thomas collapsed to the floor, knees weak under him, the days of not eating catching up with his weary body. He closed his eyes, leaning into the polished hardwood. The polished hardwood now tainted with his blood. If he could force himself to stand, Thomas would go and beg James to take him back, to make him understand – **You already tried that, Thomas.**

Thomas closed his eyes, replaying the events of three days ago, back in George’s office.  
_“I believe in you, Thomas.”_ _The president said, guiding Thomas towards his crotch. Thomas provided minimal physical resistance, too busy fighting the urge to vomit at the words George had said to him eight years ago. The circumstances were so different, but the outcome was the same. Thomas on his knees before the great and powerful George Washington. It didn’t matter. Thomas could be a good little boy if that’s what it took. “Fuck…” George gripped at Thomas hair tighter, pulling at the roots. It was so wrong – it was wrong then and it was wrong now. James would hate him. James could never find out. The difference between then and now was day and night. Thomas would not taint James’s light. George thrust into his throat, and Thomas closed his eyes imagining his fantasy life with James. Imagining the wedding. Imagining anything that wasn’t this. Thomas was brought back to reality when the grip on his scalp tightened and George groaned lowly. George pulled out and climaxed into Thomas’s hair. “Thank you, Thomas.”_

_Thomas didn’t sob like the last time._ _“I’m not doing this again, George.” He croaked with as much authority as he could muster, while George tucked himself back into his breeches._

_“Well, then. One last time, for old time’s sake, I suppose.” George smirked, “I expect your resignation on my desk within the week?” Thomas nodded silently, not trusting himself to speak. He straightened his pants, put on his jacket and sped home._

“James…” Thomas whispered into the floor.

 

* * *

 

On the other side of Thomas’s study, James was in the kitchen. The scent of alcohol was strong on his breath, and broken glass lay where his anger had made him throw it. A clenched fist and achy muscles forced his mind from forgiveness. “Fuck you, Thomas!” Was it not only this morning that him and Thomas were declaring their love for each other? Thomas didn’t mean a word of it, did he? He never did. James was tired. He was so tired. He didn’t sign up for this. Thomas didn’t give a single shit about James, and man, was he right about refusing that proposal. He knew he could go in the kitchen, slice his wrists open and bleed all over the fucking floor, for all Thomas cared. He took another shot, hoping to clear his mind, succeeding only in fogging it further. He stood on shaky legs, carefully avoiding the broken glass, and took the knife from the drawer. It was large, and definitely overkill, but if _Thomas wanted to be dramatic_ , James thought bitterly, _so could he_.

 

* * *

 

That night, James slices his wrists open…

…And Thomas succeeds caving in his own skull.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm starting to think, that maybe, just maybe, I enjoy hurting James. Oops.
> 
> Y'all should really read the work "The Hopeful Future of James Madison" by BlazingStarInInkyBlackness. (Especially if you don't like character death.)

**Author's Note:**

> I really think James deserves better treatment than this. :/  
> This is my second work for the fandom.  
> OFFICIALLY COMPLETE!
> 
> My tumblr is jaimesselfishmachines.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Hopeful Future of James Madison](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10569126) by [BlazingStarInInkyBlackness](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlazingStarInInkyBlackness/pseuds/BlazingStarInInkyBlackness)




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